


it's thoughts like this that catch

by chahakyn



Category: The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Death Fix, F/M, no ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:13:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27845818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chahakyn/pseuds/chahakyn
Summary: Hannah looks up and barely manages to keep her face straight as her gaze falls on the man behind the counter. He’s tall, broad-shouldered with eyes that twinkle behind his glasses—quite her type, if she’s being honest—and sheknowsshe’s in trouble.--Owen runs a café. Hannah stumbles upon said café and it becomes part of her daily routine. You already know how these kinds of things go.
Relationships: Hannah Grose/Owen Sharma
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39





	it's thoughts like this that catch

**Author's Note:**

> just a little thing to take my mind off of their tragic ending bc my god, i want them to be happy!!! dammit!!!!
> 
> song title from [ Such Great Heights](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gQLvhLbs3X4) by The Postal Service

If Hannah Grose has learned one thing about herself in all her years of life, it is this: she is a person of routine. There’s something comforting in tracing familiar paths day after day, settling into a tried and true system that works the best for you. She’s figured out that that’s how she likes to live life, and so she will do that. She will drink her tea, work her job, cook her meals, and be content with the reliability it all.

Today is a little odd in that regard. She’s already broken her routine once today, and intensely so. Applying for a new position that could possibly take her out of town, out of the _country_ is quite uncharacteristic of her, so much so that she feels a strange tremble in her hands as she strolls down the street during her break, her feet guiding her towards her usual location for afternoon tea.

But then something catches her eye, all of a sudden; a little café and tea shop tucked in the corner by the crosswalk. It’s not an unfamiliar sight since she passes it at least once every day, walking to and from work. But she’s never tried it out before, and there’s something itching beneath her skin, a strange desire to break her carefully cultivated routines by stepping into this café with no expectations and no idea of what could happen.

 _Oh, why not?_ She thinks with a bit of desperation, her first step into the café heralded by the gentle tinkling of bells at the door. It’s a warm little place, cozy and comfortable enough that she feels surprisingly at ease as she looks about.

“I can help you when you’re ready,” a voice calls out. Hannah looks up and barely manages to keep her face straight as her gaze falls on the man behind the counter. He’s tall, broad-shouldered with eyes that twinkle behind his glasses—quite her type, if she’s being honest—and she _knows_ in that moment that she’s in trouble. She busies herself looking up at the menu, squinting.

“I think…”

The man hums, leaning forward slightly. “First time here?”

“Is it really that obvious?” Hannah says with an uneasy laugh, tapping her fingers against the counter. “Do you have any recommendations for me?”

“The shop’s recommendations?” He asks, nodding to the chalkboard by the napkins, where the café’s most popular drinks are listed neatly in order. “Or my own?”

Hannah tilts her head, glancing at the man’s name tag. Owen.

“Yours, Owen,” she says with a nod, daring a glance up at him. He looks surprised for a moment before he gives her a warm smile, looking her up and down. Not in a salacious way, mind you, but in a more thoughtful way, like he’s trying to puzzle her out in this moment.

“Alright then, Miss…?”

“Grose. Hannah Grose.”

“Lovely, Miss Hannah Grose,” he says, the rest of the transaction moving forward in a blur. And before she knows it, her name’s being called and the drink is hers, a warm, heavy weight in her hands.

“Tell me what you think of it,” Owen says with a smile and almost cheeky wave as she heads out the door. Hannah almost replies, something playful like “I’ll only be back if it was good.” But the moment she takes a sip, she knows she’ll be going back for more. She’s not the type of person who leaves her choices to others, especially when it comes to food and drink, but Owen delivered _beautifully_ with this tea. Not that she’s going to tell him that, of course.

It isn’t until she’s drained the cup and is about to toss it in the trash when she sees the writing, hidden beneath the cupholder where it had slipped down.

_Chrysanthemum tea. A delicious flower for a lovely lady._

Hannah lets out a snort, turning the cup over in her hand. Really, such corny lines. These things don’t work on her at all; she’s a dignified woman who is very well aware of her worth, rarely swayed by these kind of trite compliments. And yet, she finds herself quite taken with this entire, odd experience, so much so that she’s back the next day. The bells above the door welcome her back in along with the sight of Owen, moving away from the display case and leaning against the counter as he sees her.

“Hello again, Miss Hannah Grose. Have you come back for more or to lodge a complaint?”

“Mm, I’m not sure,” Hannah hums, tapping her chin in thought. “The tea was delicious, but the note on the cup—”

“Did you not like it?” Owen’s eyes are wide, wide enough that Hannah can see his regret reflected their already. She shakes her head vehemently.

“It was wonderful. A terrible joke, but it made me laugh. I appreciate that.”

He relaxes, smile slipping from tense to sly. “Well, if that made you laugh, you haven’t seen anything from me yet.”

And just like that, what started as a deviation from Hannah’s system slides neatly in her routine. She visits nearly every day during her break, even beginning to bring her work into the café on slower days. Owen takes it all neatly in stride, even saving her favorite spot by the window on days where she’s running a little late. That’s not to say that he doesn’t find ways to surprise her, keep her on her toes despite the rhythm they’ve established.

“Try it?”

Hannah looks up from her laptop, blinking at the wooden spoon in front of her nose.

“Really?”

“Come now,” he hums lowly, nudging the spoon closer, “more lemon or strawberry? I’d like the opinion of the loveliest lady in the room before I commit to the frosting flavor.”

“Owen!” Hannah says, startled. She feels her cheeks heating up at his gaze, fixed firmly on her.

“Hannah!” He parrots with wide eyes, shaking the spoon a little more insistently. “Please?”

Hannah sighs before letting her tongue dart out to lick the spoon, keeping her gaze firmly on the spoon—not because she’s afraid of what she’ll see if she looks up at Owen, but rather, because she’s afraid of how she’ll react if she sees Owen looking at her. He’s always looking at her, gaze heavy enough that she can feel it when she’s working at the corner table or staring at the menu trying to decide what drink she’ll be getting today.

“More strawberry,” she declares, leaning back, and like that, the weight of the moment evaporates. Owen’s gaze is still on her, but no longer heavy as he considers her words.

“A good choice,” he agrees with a nod, presenting her with the finished product a few minutes later. A dainty little sponge cake, topped with fresh fruit and the frosting she’d approved. It’s a gorgeous thing, as everything Owen makes is. She learns that he likes to tinker with recipes all the time, adapting flavors and designs to keep things fresh. Though, sometimes it seems he changes recipes to suit the tastes of others he cares about. Case in point: one windy afternoon, two children stumble into café, noses red with cold from where they peek over their scarves

“Well, hello there!” Owen hums, coming from around the counter to sweep one of them, a little girl, into a great hug. He shakes hands with the other, a serious boy. “So, you’ve finally come to visit me then?”

“We were here just two weeks ago!” The girl declares brightly, giggling as Owen tugs gently at one of her braids.

“That was for the cupcakes, Flora. You’re here to see only me today, right?”

“You do know we’re here to pick up the cakes for tea, right?” The boy says with a cocked brow.

“Here for the baked goods again! You never wish to spend time with your favorite cook, you only want me for my food.”

“Not true!” Flora glances at her brother, tugging at his sleeve. “Miles, we have time to spend with Owen right now, yes? It’ll be perfectly splendid!”

“I suppose we have some time to spare,” Miles admits, returning Owen’s smile easily as Owen takes them behind the counter to ogle at the pastries and teas and help him with a new recipe. By the time Owen shoos them out of the café with a promise to visit next week, they’re laden with a few extra box of cakes and pastries, Flora skipping out into the street with glee at having gotten to pick some of frosting flavors herself. Owen stops Miles with a hand on his shoulder, their conversation carrying over to Hannah despite their low voices.

“Make sure you two brush your teeth properly tonight, yes? I won’t have Mr. Wingrave after me for feeding you two too much sugar.”

“Understood.” Miles gives Owen a nod, serious expression melting away as Owen ruffles his hair.

“Don’t grow up too fast, Miles Wingrave,” he says affectionately, and with that, the children are gone.

“It seems you’ll be out of business soon, if you keep playing favorites and feeding them so many snacks,” Hannah calls out to Owen, smiling as he seats himself neatly in front of her.

“Don’t worry Hannah, I only have eyes for you,” he reassures her, grinning as she shakes her head.

“You’re certainly fond of them.”

“Yes well, I have a confession to make on that front.” He slides closer to her, cupping a hand next to his mouth as Hannah leans in. “I’ve told you you’re my favorite customer before, but I was lying. Flora and Miles are my favorites. I promised them first.”

Hannah laughs, ignoring the stutter in her heart at feeling his warm breath against the sensitive skin of her ear. “Well I can’t very well compete with that, can I?” She leans back, taking a sip of her drink almost as an afterthought.

“You come close, Hannah,” Owen hums, tapping her nose with his finger. “Don’t you worry.”

Hannah tilts her head, heart racing as she watches Owen returns to his post behind the counter. There’s this lovely sense of falling for him, with him, in him when they’re together, she decides. Owen makes it all so easy, his kindness and joy and passion for his work only contributing to her already significant amount of affection for him. Every word, every touch of he gives her; it’s all so endearing, she can’t help but fall. But not a fearful kind of falling, like roller coasters or losing your balance when you take one too many steps down the stairs at a time.

No, this kind of falling is gentle and secure, the kind of falling that you do into your bed at the end of a long hard day. The inevitable kind, the kind that you know is coming and you can’t help but look forward to because it dims everything else in the background, all you can think of is falling and enjoying every moment of it. It’s the best kind of routine, in Hannah’s opinion. But of course, it’s just never that easy, is it?

The response to her career application a few days later weighs heavily in her inbox and on her mind, and it takes an inordinate amount of strength to open the email. It’s strange, how the message of congratulations garners equal excitement and disappointment. The breaking of her normal routines, of course, is what she is most disappointed about. But a factor that she hadn’t thought to count before weighs even heavier than that: what will she tell Owen?

The bells jingle above her as usual when she enters the café, but they sound more subdued.

“Might I have a word, Owen?” Hannah asks as she hands him money to pay for her drink. She doesn’t even know what she’s paying for, leaving the choice to Owen. He takes one look at her, tilting his head before gently pushing the money back at her.

“Anything for you, Hannah,” He says with a wink, glancing at the clock next to the register. “Got some time for food with your word?”

“Yes, of course.” Her heart pangs as she watches him busy himself behind the counter, emerging with two steaming mugs of tea, a plate of coffee cake, and a small smile on his face.

“Wasn’t sure if you were looking to be adventurous today, so I stuck with what I know you like.”

Hannah picks up the mug with an appreciative smile, taking a sip. And it’s so wonderful, always so delicious and it makes this all so much harder than she wants it to be. Hannah sets the mug down with a sigh, fingers curling around the warm ceramic.

“I’m leaving. London, that is,” she says quickly, gaze plastered firmly downwards. A glance up through her lashes finds Owen with a confused expression on his face, jaw working slowly.

“I’m sorry?”

“I got an offer. In Paris. It’s too good to turn down, and I will be moving. I just thought…you might like to know.”

Owen blinks. And then his face splits into a beaming smile, like a flower opening toward the sun. The petals unfurl, his mouth opens, and he lets out a delighted laugh, low and deep but light as air and so, _so_ pleased.

“I…wasn’t aware my leaving would bring you such joy,” Hannah says, clipped and careful as her hands fold neatly in her lap. Owen’s mouth snaps shut at that, though his lips still curl up at the corners as though the action is involuntary, something he doesn’t even have the power to stop.

“No, no, it’s just… I had something to tell you too.” He chuckles, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a folded brochure. Taking it, Hannah can feel in an instant that it’s something precious to him. The paper is worn beneath her fingers, folds creased deep into the paper and corners dog-eared, as though it had been folded and unfolded over and over again.

“I got accepted to culinary school over the weekend. In Paris, as it were.” Owen taps the paper in her hands, a brochure for said school. Hannah flips through it, heart pounding as Owen continues to speak. “I was going to tell you too. Friday is my last day.”

“Well, then,” Hannah says as she folds the brochure carefully, handing it to Owen while giving him a tentative smile. “This is a convenient coincidence. If not a bit awkward.”

Owen chuckles, taking the brochure and then sweeping her hands up in his. His fingers cover hers, rubbing gently at her knuckles and sending surprised ribbons of delight skating down her spine. “Not awkward at all. I’m overjoyed, to be honest. This outcome is much better than anything I could have hoped for.” He pauses, giving her a thoughtful look. “Have dinner with me.”

“W-what?”

“To celebrate.” Owen shoots her a grin, eyes twinkling. “Among other things.”

Hannah hums thoughtfully. “Other things?”

“Oh, Hannah Grose,” he says with a laugh, bringing her hands up in his. The kiss he brushes against her knuckles tickles her skin, and Hannah can feel her heart skipping a beat against her will.

“Other things, yes, I see,” Hannah stammers out, shaking her head at Owen’s amused look. “Alright, dinner it is.”

“Splendid.” He brushes another kiss to the back of her hand, a pleased twinkle in his eyes. “Just perfectly splendid.”

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on [ tumblr](https://shizuoi.tumblr.com/) if you want to chat about how bly manor ending had no right being as sad as it was ;_;


End file.
